Squib
by just3words
Summary: What happened to Filch, growing up? What did his parents think, when they learned he was a Squib? Why did Dumbledore give him a job? An intense, disturbing story, although it also has a beauty to it. Please don't read if you can't deal with some very sad stuff. But there is a happy ending.


Squibs were not well regarded in the wizarding world.

Argus Filch had known that ever since he could remember, but he only really understood it when he turned 11.

The day he didn't get his Hogwarts letter. The day his father kicked him out.

They'd had hope, before that day. Mrs. Filch would cluck over him and tell her friends "He's just a bit of a late bloomer. He's a wee delicate, my little Argus."

Mr. Filch wouldn't say anything, but Argus seemed to find himself in dangerous situations quite a lot, and his dad always saved him at the very. Last. Second. Not to mention the beatings.

But on that day, they knew it once and for all-

Argus Filch would never have magic. And they kicked him out.

**oooooo**

It turned out that even Squibs could take the Knight Bus. Of course, Squibs got kicked off on the last stop, just like all the other drifters, just like all the other trash. There was a reason Knockturn Alley was always the last stop.

Even Squibs could suck cock and fuck cock and cry. Even male Squibs. Even 11-year-old Squibs. Especially homeless Squibs.

But. Squibs couldn't defend themselves against fists and kicks and whips and spells. Squibs couldn't Apparate out of dirty warehouses. Squibs couldn't kill the men who tied them up and tore them to pieces. Oh so slowly.

And Aurors didn't care about Squibs. Nobody did. After all, Squibs didn't fit in, not anywhere.

Except with themselves, and they killed Roger when he tried that. And then they hung Argus by his ankles from the ceiling and whipped him until he wore a coat of blood. Everywhere.

They called it his birthday suit, and they laughed. Then they took him down and raped him until the sun rose.

Nobody cared about Squibs.

He was 14.

**oooooo**

Nobody seemed to get tired of Squibs, either. Sometimes, Argus fooled himself into thinking he actually had some kind of magic, that it was him inspiring the men to be so creative. Even twisted, parasitic, host-killing magic would be better than nothing.

Nobody cared about Squibs.

He didn't have magic, though, of course, and it was just that people have an endless capacity to inflict pain. He ought to have known that, before now, since nothing ever hurt quite as much as that one day. In his mind, Argus was still 11.

His body was not 11 anymore.

Some of them liked that. Some of them didn't. Some of the latter category left him alone, now. Some of them didn't.

Argus wasn't gay. Regardless of Roger. And Argus wasn't stupid, even if he'd never been to school. Even if a scarred up dirty whore who never left his room didn't need to be clever.

But. On his next birthday, they brought in a girl. For him to rape. And when he wouldn't do it, they cast magic on him. Until he did it.

After that, Argus stopped looking for magic.

He was 15.

He wasn't 11 anymore.

**oooooo**

One night, he grabbed the knife. Right after it carved _dirty nasty ugly Squib_ into him. Permanently.

But that wasn't why he did it. He already knew he was a _dirty nasty ugly Squib_. Permanently.

It was for the girl.

She'd died. After.

So he killed them. With their knife. But really, shouldn't knives belong to the things they were used on? He'd heard of bread-knives. And tomato-knives. Why not an Argus-knife, then?

He opened the door for the first time.

He was 16.

He took a breath of fresh air.

**oooooo**

He found a job sweeping floors at Borgin & Burke's, slept with Borgin to keep it. Borgin was _dirty nasty ugly_, and he didn't seem to mind that Argus was, too. But a new boy took Argus' place after a while.

Nobody cared about Squibs.

Argus was glad, though. He didn't want to sleep with a man. Ever again.

Only, he didn't think he could sleep with a girl, either. Ever again.

So he slept on a doorstep. He didn't get shooed away.

Nobody cared about Squibs, and maybe that was a good thing.

He was 17.

**oooooo**

Once, he accidentally wandered into Diagon Alley.

Everyone there was so happy. Most of them were shopping with their families. Some of them were holding hands, or hugging, or kissing. It looked so right, the way they laughed.

Argus tried to remember the last time he laughed.

He couldn't. So he walked back to Knockturn Alley.

It was what he knew.

He chose a new doorstep, that night, and begged a few crusts for dinner. He was back near Borgin & Burke's again.

Sometimes, Argus liked to watch the people, the ones who only visited Knockturn. He was mostly just afraid of them, though.

That night, he didn't feel afraid. Didn't feel much of anything.

There was a boy. That night. Not that much younger than him, really, but enough. And the new boy was a visitor, not a resident. So all in all, Argus thought him strange.

He thought about that boy a lot.

It was something that he wasn't used to.

He thought about that boy enough that when he came back, Argus crept closer to him, just to look. Only the boy turned around, and saw him, and _really actually looked at him_, and gasped. And then when Argus tried to run, the boy grabbed him and Apparated away.

When they arrived in a new place, Argus threw up and passed out.

When he woke up, he was in a bed. It was his first time in a real bed since he turned 11. And there was a set of blue eyes twinkling down at him-

They looked sad.

And for the first time, Argus Filch thought that maybe, just maybe-

Somebody cared about Squibs.

He was almost, but not quite, 18.

**_FIN_**


End file.
